‘Probably next week, Bert. I’ll do my best.’

‘Good. She gets very lonely, does Edith.’

Dad is out on his front porch, waiting for me.

‘Becca? Dinner is getting cold.’

He likes to keep the peace, my Dad, hates any sort of row, which can be hard when Danny is around. And I don’t want to upset him, he has enough to be worrying about. So I smile and hurry across the street. It’s only right I go back and have the dinner Joanna has made, for my dad’s sake. Also, I’m hungover, starving, barely hanging in here.

If anyone brings up the gene test again, I’m out of there, hungry or not.

Chapter Six

Behind the bar I’m praying for my break to arrive so I can drop another couple of Advil. The hangover is still torturing me, punishing me for my night of debauchery. I wonder if Stephen Black has a hangover. Is he thinking of me? Sorry for what he did, or still savoring the pleasure? Picturing the deed with a discreet smile simmering on his face?

From the corner of my eye I see a woman and man making their way towards the bar, conspicuous in their suits. They’re not wearing the usual black t-shirts, leather jackets or anything to suggest that they are faithful rockers. They won’t stay long.

Oh my God, she has a gun! Her jacket sways and I see the black, heavy-looking piece on her hip. Cops. Something is going down.

I try to pull a beer but I can’t stop watching them. They’re at the far end of bar now, speaking to Brian. The male cop is showing him something. He looks younger than his female colleague and must be over six feet tall because he’s towering over everyone, even Brian. Brian’s looking at whatever he’s being shown and shaking his head, calling another bar staff member over. Now he’s shaking his head too. Then the female cop points up at me. Does she want to talk to me too? I hope not. Cops I can do without right now. I’ve enough going on in my head, what with having to face Stephen Black and figure out what Mom was ranting about.

Slipping out from behind the bar, gin-scented sweat dripping from every pore, I head to the changing room, searching my bag for some Advil. Please be here. Rummaging through the contents, my fingers eventually locating the pills, I hear a knock on the door.

‘Detective Ivy Turner,’ the female cop says while shoving her ID card in my face. ‘I wonder if I could have a moment of your time.’

‘Sure,’ I say, standing back to let them in. Beer barrels are the only places to sit in the room, so they remain standing.